When Venters got back to the valley with another calf, it was close upon daybreak.  He crawled into his cave and slept late.  Bess had no inkling that he had been absent from camp nearly all night, and only remarked solicitously that he appeared to be more tired than usual, and more in the need of sleep.  In the afternoon Venters built a gate across a small ravine near camp, and here corralled the calves; and he succeeded in completing his task without Bess being any the wiser.

That night he made two more trips to Oldring’s range, and again on the following night, and yet another on the next.  With eight calves in his corral, he concluded that he had enough; but it dawned upon him then that he did not want to kill one.  “I’ve rustled Oldring’s cattle,” he said, and laughed.  He noted then that all the calves were red.  “Red!” he exclaimed.  “From the red herd.  I’ve stolen Jane Withersteen’s cattle!...That’s about the strangest thing yet.”

One more trip he undertook to Oldring’s valley, and this time he roped a yearling steer and killed it and cut out a small quarter of beef.  The howling of coyotes told him he need have no apprehension that the work of his knife would be discovered.  He packed the beef back to camp and hung it upon a spruce-tree.  Then he sought his bed.

On the morrow he was up bright and early, glad that he had a surprise for Bess.  He could hardly wait for her to come out.  Presently she appeared and walked under the spruce.  Then she approached the camp-fire.  There was a tinge of healthy red in the bronze of her cheeks, and her slender form had begun to round out in graceful lines.

“Bess, didn’t you say you were tired of rabbit?” inquired Venters.  “And quail and beaver?”

“Indeed I did.”

“What would you like?”

“I’m tired of meat, but if we have to live on it I’d like some beef.”

“Well, how does that strike you?” Venters pointed to the quarter hanging from the spruce-tree.  “We’ll have fresh beef for a few days, then we’ll cut the rest into strips and dry it.”

“Where did you get that?” asked Bess, slowly.

“I stole that from Oldring.”

“You went back to the canyon—­you risked—­” While she hesitated the tinge of bloom faded out of her cheeks.

“It wasn’t any risk, but it was hard work.”

“I’m sorry I said I was tired of rabbit.  Why!  How—­When did you get that beef?”

“Last night.”

“While I was asleep?”

“Yes.”

“I woke last night sometime—­but I didn’t know.”

Her eyes were widening, darkening with thought, and whenever they did so the steady, watchful, seeing gaze gave place to the wistful light.  In the former she saw as the primitive woman without thought; in the latter she looked inward, and her gaze was the reflection of a troubled mind.  For long Venters had not seen that dark change, that deepening of blue, which he thought was beautiful and sad.  But now he wanted to make her think.